Lend Me Your Wings
by keep-turning-the-pages
Summary: Scott has been hurt too many times. But, when he and Avi find an abused Mitch lying broken and bloody on the street, he takes him in. Could Mitch be different? Could they fall in love? Is Mitch the fifth member of Pentatonix they've been looking for? Scomiche pairing.
1. Chapter One

Scott and Avi exited the café, coffees in their hands. Scott clutched his tightly, letting the warmth of the drink unthaw his frozen hands.

"I don't remember it being this cold when we got here," he thought aloud, shivering in his thin hoodie.

Avi smirked and pulled out his phone, checking the temperature. "Yep, it's dropped ten degrees. But, I feel now pity for you. _You _chose to wear the jacket, and I," Avi seemed to puff up in his smugness. "Am in a coat."

Scott scowled at the bass and they continued walking in silence, dodging speeding people passing by them. "I'm a little nervous for our show," Scott admitted, breaking the silence. "I still can't believe we won the Sing-Off – I feel like there's something missing. Something important."

Avi nodded in agreement. "I think we need a fifth member," he declared. Scott stared at him. "What?"

"We need someone to accompany Kirstie and you; a three-part harmony. It would make our music sound _so _much better than it does now. To be blunt – we aren't _that _good. I want to be better; in fact, I want to be the best."

Scott furrowed his brow in quiet contemplation before smiling. "That actually makes sense," he laughed. "Good job!" Avi chuckled with him for a while before turning the subject back to the issue, suddenly serious. "We can only do this with another member. If we want to make it, then we _have _to have one."

They discussed the topic as they walked along, both of the musicians deeply immersed in the subject.

"We should probably search YouTube before sending out an advertisement," Avi planned out as they passed an alleyway. "That way we can—"

A small whimper from the depths of the alleyway cut him off, echoing off of the brick walls. Scott and Avi exchanged an urgent look before making their way towards the sound. When they reached the back of the dim alleyway they found a young man splayed out in the middle of the alley, beaten, bloody, and somewhere along the brink of unconsciousness. He looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, with black hair and a small figure. As Scott grew closer to him he felt worry and fear bloom in his stomach at the sight of the young man's injuries.

"Are you alright?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Scott regretted them, flinching at the stupidity of his question. Of course he wasn't okay.

The young man shook his head slightly, the small movement seemingly causing him pain. Avi shot Scott a look that clearly said, '_you're an idiot.'_

Scott knelt down at the young man's side, his fingers fluttering nervously around his wounds. "What's your name?" he asked softly. "Mitch," the young man whispered shakily.

"Alright, Mitch, where do you live?"

Mitch shook his head violently, fear flooding his features. Avi immediately understood; Mitch had obviously been abused. Avi quickly bent down beside Mitch, comforting him. "We'll just take you to Scott's house," he jerked his head towards the bewildered blonde. "That alright?"

He soon realized that he may as well have been talking to a wall; Mitch had fallen unconscious, his eyes shut and expression slack.

"Why are we taking him to _my _apartment?" Scott furrowed his brow at the bass, and Avi sighed. "I'll explain later; you need to pick him up."

Scott nodded and scooped Mitch up his arms, disliking how Mitch's body willingly followed the movement, completely limp. He stood up, straightening his legs, and frowned at how unusually light the young man was.

They walked down the street quickly, ignoring all of the strange looks they received as they went, and were at the apartment in record time.

Scott was already sick with worry as he laid Mitch down onto the large, fluffy brown sofa. He felt as though he had known the young man all of his life, instead of the half-hour of spending time with him, most of which Mitch was unconscious. He stared at him, assessing his injuries, and noticed that Mitch's cheeks were flushed a bright red. He nervously felt the smaller man's forehead. He was burning up.

"Avi!" he called for his friend, who was currently in the kitchen getting supplies. "He's got a fever!" Scott heard Avi curse in response from the kitchen, and soon the bass rushed into the living room, a cool, wet rag in his hands. He laid it against Mitch's forehead, and the young man seemed to sigh in relief in his unconscious state.

"We need to get him to his home," Scott told Avi quietly, barely moving his lips. He wasn't sure why he was talking so softly; he certainly wasn't going to 'awaken' Mitch any time soon.

Avi shook his head adamantly. "No, we can't."

"Why not?"

"He's obviously been abused, Scott. Look at the finger shaped bruises around his neck; someone tried to choke him. He has bruises all over him that look like large fists; I'm going to assume that his father or a boyfriend of some sort has been abusing him."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Someone's been watching a little too much of Sherlock Holmes." Neither of the two singers laughed at the small attempt to lighten the mood. Scott felt about one million questions bubbling up inside him.

"Why do you think he was abused?" he eventually asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I don't know," Avi pressed his face into his hands. Scott felt like copying his movements. They sat in silence for a few moments before Avi spoke suddenly, causing Scott to jump slightly. "I just don't understand _why _he was abused _at all; _why would someone be that cruel?" Avi's voice was muffled from behind his hands, but Scott still understood him clearly.

"I don't know, Avi," he said sadly, looking at Mitch worriedly. "I honestly don't know."

Kirstie wandered around the produce section in the store, trying to select vegetables of good quality. She hummed as she plucked a particularly large head of lettuce from the bin, plopping it into the plastic bag that the store offered. She selected the last two onions that weren't beaten to a pulp, and, balancing the two onions in one hand, reached for the bag dispenser next to the stand.

Suddenly, her phone rang; startling her enough to drop the precariously balanced onions, and the vegetables went bouncing off in opposite directions.

"Shit!" she bent down to pick up the onions, but they were already long gone. She sighed and pulled her phone out of her back pocket and answered, stopping the never-ending cycle of _Bootylicious. _She thought she saw a few relieved expressions when the song ended.

"Kevin, this had better be good."

"_That's no way to greet a friend."_

Kirstie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. What do you want?"

She heard the beat boxer sigh on the other end. _"I was wondering if you knew where Scott and Avi are. They were supposed to be back here four hours ago."_

Kirstie frowned. "No, but, I can call them?" she raised her voice in question, unsure of what to do.

"_That would be great. Call me back after you do, okay?"_

"I will. Goodbye, Kevin."

"_Bye."_

As soon as they hung up, Kirstie was dialing Avi's number at top speed, curious as to what was going on. He picked up around the fourth ring. _"Hello?" _he sounded stressed, worried, and rushed.

"Hey, what's up? Kevin's worried about you guys. Is something wrong, like, traffic or something?"

Kirstie listened urgently as Avi explained the situation quickly, and when he finished, Kirstie's shaking hand tightened on her phone. "I'm coming over," she declared.

"_Whatever. I need to get back to Mitch anyway. Bye."_

He hung up before she even had the chance to say goodbye. Kirstie rushed to her car, leaving her bag of vegetables for the workers to find in the onion bin, dialing Kevin simultaneously.

Kevin stared at his phone, shock registering within his brain. Scott and Avi had an abused person in Scott apartment. _Scott and Avi had an abused person in Scott's apartment._

After a few moments, he shook out of his daze and raced out of he and Avi's small house and to his car, already feeling worry for someone he didn't even know. He broke the speed limit somewhere along the way and never slowed down; he was eternally grateful that he hadn't been pulled over.

When he was finally in the apartment building and at Scott's door, he resisted the urge to barge in. Instead, he knocked urgently. He hammered on the wood until Kirstie finally opened the door, glaring at him, and ushered him inside. "Mitch is over there," she whispered, pointing over to where Kevin knew Scott's sofa rested. Kevin briefly wondered why Kirstie was speaking so quietly, eventually assuming that it fit the mood of the situation. He went over to the couch, peering over Scott's shoulder.

The sight of how beaten and bloody Mitch was made Kevin's stomach flip, but the sick feeling was eased slightly at how gentle Scott was with the dark haired young man. He watched as Scott gingerly lay a freshly dampened rag on Mitch's forehead, and marveled at how the blonde gingerly rearranged Mitch's blankets. Kevin had never seen Scott behave with this much care.

Kevin finally spoke up, although softly. "Do you think he's going to be alright?" Scott nodded, albeit a little uncertainly. "Of course," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off of Mitch. "Kirstie's already gone to go and get a doctor. We didn't feel comfortable with moving Mitch – he seems too injured."

Kevin turned to look at Kirstie, only to realize that she was already gone. "Alright," he said, looking down at Mitch.

"He's going to be alright," Scott muttered, more to himself than to Kevin. Kevin shot him a worred glance before going off to find Avi, who was currently in the kitchen.

Scott let his thoughts wander a little and he messed with Mitch's blankets. He had to admit, the young man was rather attractive, even in his bloody state. Scott admired the curve of his jaw, and those _eyebrows. _Scott also found that he really liked Mitch's lips. They were perfect for—

'_Whoa. We are _not _going there. I am simply appreciating his good looks, because I certainly am _not _attracted to him. Hell, I've only just learned his name!' _Scott told himself.

'_Of course you aren't attracted to him,' _a voice in the back of his head said sarcastically.

Scott mentally frowned at the voice. _'But, I don't know anything about him besides his name.'_

The small voice sighed, sounding irritated with Scott. _'Well, maybe something's different about him. Something… special.'_

Scott shifted uncomfortably. He was talking to himself, as well as convincing himself that he was attracted to Mitch. It was a little strange, even for him. _'I dunno….' _He thought uncertainly. _'I'll just get to know him. Maybe he is different.'_

Perhaps Mitch was different than the other men Scott had dated. They all either cheated on him, treated him horribly, or blew him off constantly. He remembered that whenever he leaned in to kiss his latest boyfriend, he smelled a strong scent of alcohol in his breath. That relationship ended when Mike came home drunk and angry. He remembered walking in on Charles with two girls, and Charles's words of _I'm not really gay. Sorry. _It didn't hurt as much as Scott had expected, but he supposed he was just used to the scum he always made the mistake of dating.

Scott looked down at Mitch and flicked a pieced of dark hair off of his face. He resisted the urge to continue to caress his face and leaned away from Mitch, swallowing hard. What was this? This… _feeling _he had with Mitch?

Scott turned to look at the young man once more, uncertainty filling him yet again. He couldn't afford to be hurt again. But, maybe Mitch was different. Maybe Mitch _was _special.


	2. Chapter Two

Kirstie arrived with the doctor a half an hour after leaving to get him, and she knocked on the door rapidly. "We're here!" she shouted through the door. Scott felt a pang of irritation go through him at her unnecessary loudness, and he stood up, marching to the door.

He flung open the door and growled, "Could you be any louder? You need to — oh." Scott suddenly noticed a tall man standing next to Kirstie, and fell silent, embarrassed by his outburst.

The doctor was a kind faced man with shaggy brown hair that was parted in the middle. A day's worth of stubble littered his chin, and his hazel eyes had smile lines in their corners. He was tall, at least a good six inches taller than Scott. He reached out a large hand, which Scott took. They shook, and the doctor introduced himself. "I'm Doctor Kipling. I understand I'm here to see a young man named Mitch?"

Scott nodded his head at let them both inside, shutting the door quietly behind them. "Yeah, he's right over there," Scott pointed to the large sofa, where you could clearly see Mitch.

Dr. Kipling made his way over to the couch, kneeling at Mitch's side and took a stethoscope out from his bag, plugging it into his ears. He placed the silvery disc over Mitch's heart, listening carefully. He also listened to Mitch's heart through his upper and lower back, along with the opposite side of his chest. The doctor frowned and lifted Mitch's shirt up to reveal numerous bruises and cuts. There was a large, discolored area on his side that suggested broken ribs, and Scott was just barely able to keep from gasping in shock.

"Oh," Kirstie breathed from behind him.

Kipling frowned and turned his head towards Scott. "Do you have any idea of how this happened?" Scott shook his head. "No, we found him in an alleyway. Although, we do suspect he's been abused. Or maybe mugged."

"He most likely wasn't mugged; criminals tend to stab or shoot. This is a deliberate beating. Do you know where he lives?" Kipling asked as he examined Mitch.

"He refused to tell us," Avi said from across the room, worry shining clearly in his eyes.

Kipling nodded his head, touching Mitch's right arm gingerly. "His right shoulder is dislocated and a few of his ribs are definitely broken. He has more bruises than I can count, and, unfortunately, his left leg is broken. Hopefully it's a mild fracture; it doesn't seem too bad," the doctor told them. He dug around in his bag before pulling out some antibiotic and several rolls of white bandages. "I'm going to wrap these around him for now. You'll need to bring him in tomorrow to get his cast fitted and a sling for his shoulder and ribcage, though."

"Is it even safe to move him?" Scott asked Kipling worriedly.

"You're going to have to bring him in. I can't take the equipment needed to make the cast over here. I'm sorry," Dr. Kipling answered as he stood up, finished with bandaging Mitch up. He then turned to face Scott, who had also gotten up. "You're going to need to move him to a bad or something similar. Do you have anything like that?"

"I have a guest room."

Kipling smiled. "Good. I can move him if you want—"

"No!" Scott blurted, interrupting the doctor. Everyone turned to look at him, confused frowns upon their faces. He was confused himself. Why was he suddenly so protective of Mitch? "No, I'll take care of it," Scott stated again calmly. Kipling raised an eyebrow but nodded, gesturing to Mitch with one hand.

Scott bent down and scooped Mitch up into his arms, straightening up again. "I'll need someone to open the door for me."

Avi walked quickly to the guest bedroom and opened the door. Inside, you could see a bed, a dresser with a decorative vase, and a nightstand with a lamp on it. Scott carried Mitch into the bedroom, gently laying him down onto the bed and tugging blankets over the young man. He flicked off the lights and exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Kipling was already standing by the door, coat on and bag in hand when Scott walked back into the living area. "When he wakes up, give him some of these sleeping pills," the doctor tossed a box at Scott, who caught it. "He needs two at a time. Trust me, he won't want to be conscious for very long."

They all nodded, each of the band members shaking Kipling's hand before he went out. Kirstie closed the door behind him, leaning against it. "What time is it?" she asked, fatigue clear in her tone.

Avi checked his watch. "It's almost two AM. I'm sorry, Scott, but I'm going to head out. I'll be here first thing in the morning, I promise."

Guilt dropped down in Scott's stomach for absolutely no reason; it wasn't his fault that they decided to stay here. Even so, he still felt that he was to blame. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely, ushering the other three out the door. "You don't have to come if you don't want to—"

Avi had placed a hand on his shoulder, the bass's kind eyes looking up at him. "Do you want us to be here tomorrow?"

Scott shuffled from foot to foot, glancing down at the floor. "Well, yeah, it would be nice to have you guys there. But—"

"We'll be here. Just let us get some sleep."

Scott almost opened his mouth in protest, but instead swallowed the words down and just nodded. Avi smiled at him and he, Kevin, and Kirstie slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind them. Scott immediately relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders and fatigue rushing through his body. He hadn't realized he was so tired. He yawned and went into his bedroom, sliding into bed without undressing. It was too late for that.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Scott was startled away by a loud thud and a pained cry.

For a moment, he panicked, thinking _burglar, _before remembering Mitch. Once he had realized it was _Mitch _who had made that painful yell, he was out of bed in a heartbeat, wrenching his door open and bolting to the guest bedroom. He flung open the door and ran inside, finding Mitch leaning heavily against the dresser, his face screwed up in pain.

Scott glanced down briefly to see the vase shattered on the floor. Mitch must have knocked it down when he grabbed the dresser for support.

Mitch's legs were shaking beneath him, and even from the doorway Scott could see that his knuckles were white. Scott rushed forward at gathered Mitch into his arms, Mitch just relaxing into him, obviously too exhausted to do anything. Scott carried him to the bed, where he laid Mitch.

Mitch gripped the sleeve of Scott's shirt, and blue eyes met brown. Fear and pain were clear in Mitch's eyes, and Mitch whispered, "Where am I?"

"You're in my apartment. You're safe now."

Mitch blinked up at him. "Why?"

"'Why' what?"

"Why am I here?"

Scott sat down on the edge of the bed. "We found you in an alleyway. You told us your name, but that was it. So, we brought you here and called a doctor."

Mitch looked down at himself, and seemed to notice the white bandages for the first time. "But why didn't you just leave me in the street?"

Scott was slightly surprised at the bitterness in Mitch's tone, but he answered his question anyway. "I'm not that kind of person, Mitch. I'm Scott."

Mitch managed a half smile. "You already know my name."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Scott suddenly spoke, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "Who did that?"

Mitch look startled for a second. "What?"

"Who attacked you? Who _hurt _you?"

Mitch looked nervous, almost scared, as he said, "I… um… it was – I was mugged."

It was obviously a lie, which only strengthened Scott's resolve. "No you weren't. Tell me the truth, please, I won't do anything to you." Mitch shook his head. "I was mugged, alright?"

Scott sighed. Mitch was sticking with the story, and they didn't know each other well enough for him to pressure the smaller man into telling him anything. "Fine. I don't believe you, Mitch, but you need your rest." Mitch nodded, looking down at the blankets with a nauseous look on his face. Scott stood up. "I'm going to go and get something from the bathroom. I'll be back soon, alright?" he tried to keep his voice soft and kind. He didn't want to give the wrong impression.

"Go ahead," Mitch motioned his head towards the doorway.

Scott walked to the bathroom quickly and opened the cupboard, scanning for the Benadryl. He located it and grabbed it. He filled a glass of water and then took the medicine and drink to the guest bedroom, where he found Mitch touching his shoulder with a pained expression.

Once Mitch noticed Scott was standing in the doorway, he let his hand fall to the bed and rearranged his expression into one of interest. Scott looked worriedly at him as he crossed the room to set the glass down on the nightstand. "Are you okay?"

Mitch nodded vigorously, a movement that had to hurt his shoulder. "I'm fine."

Scott continued to look at him for a few moments before handing Mitch the glass and two tablets. "This will help you fall asleep."

Mitch raised an eyebrow and popped the pills into his mouth, washing them down with the water. "Thank you," he said quietly as he passed the glass back to Scott. Scott set the cup down onto the nightstand and smiled. "No problem."

A comfortable silence was between them, and just as Mitch's eyelids were beginning to flutter Scott said, "We're going to go to the hospital tomorrow, alright? Do you think you can handle the drive?"

Mitch nodded sleepily. "Yeah," his words were slurred with sleep. Scott smiled and got up from the bed. "I'm going to go – you and I both need some sleep." It was true; Scott had begun to feel fatigue in his body and brain. He left, closing the door as quietly as he could, and practically ran to his bedroom, jumping into the warm, comfortable blankets that were begging to be slept in.

He didn't even bother getting under the covers. He just closed his eyes, his messy bedroom disappearing into blackness.

Unfortunately, his brain decided that no, it in fact did not need any sleep. The question of who had injured Mitch was keeping him awake, and there was absolutely no way to solve it.

Scott knew, deep down, that Mitch had been abused. All of the signs were there: the frightened expressions at the mention of the attacker, the finger-shaped bruises, the refusal to tell Scott the truth. He just needed to prove that his theory was true, that Mitch _wasn't _mugged. Mitch was a horrible liar; anyone could see through his story. But, somehow, Scott needed Mitch to confirm his belief.

If Mitch refused to tell the police the truth, they couldn't arrest whoever had abused him. They would be, instead, looking for a mugger on the streets near the café on Oak Road. Mitch would probably just be back in the hands of the attacker, assuming that they were somebody he lived with or spent a significant amount of time with.

Scott tossed and turned violently, his brain working on overdrive as he thought about this. He felt a strange urge to protect Mitch from the attacker. He blamed it on his instinct to protect those in need – he most certainly wasn't _feeling _anything for Mitch except for platonic liking. He had been hurt too many times to fall for someone again, to have someone break his heart once more.

Finally, he fell asleep sometime around four, thoughts, feelings, and uncertainties swirling throughout him.


	3. Chapter Three

When Avi had said that they would be here in the morning, Scott did not expect them to arrive at _seven o'clock in the frigging morning. _

Scott groaned and buried his face into his pillow, half hoping that they would just go away if he didn't answer. Unfortunately, this wish did not come true. Scott only got out of his warm blankets and pillows when Kirstie started to sing cheery Disney songs loudly, the sound grating on his nerves. He stumbled to the door, opening it only slightly so that there was just a thin crack, enough for him to see the trio all gathered in the narrow hallway. He gave them his best death glare, and could only hope it still looked threatening when he was still half-asleep. "Go away."

Avi laughed. "I told you we'd be here in the morning, Scott. It's not out fault that you weren't prepared."

Scott scowled at the bass and sighed, swinging the door open and motioning them to come inside. They filed into the cozy apartment, taking seats on his one green armchair and fluffy couch. Avi propped his feet up on the coffee table and looked up at Scott, who was still standing by the door. "Is Mitch ready?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "No, of course not. He needs his rest, Avi."

Avi looked at him pointedly. "He also needs to get to that doctor's appointment. I called Kipling last night, before I went to bed. He said to come at nine – and the hospital's nearly an hour away."

Scott sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was running off of three hours of sleep, and he was getting irritated with his friends. "Why did you schedule it so early?"

"I figured that you would be wide awake and ready to go by then. Seeing as, you know, it _is_ Mitch's health and not yours," Avi said scathingly, worry and fatigue finally breaking apart his cheery mask that was so obviously false. "I thought that you would care more than," the bearded man looked him up and down, taking in Scott's rumpled appearance. "I thought that you would care more than _this_."

Guilt immediately dropped in Scott's stomach, and he instantly regretted the way he had been acting. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking down at his feet.

Avi's harsh expression melted off of his face, replaced by one of guilt. "No, _I'm_ sorry, Scott. That was completely out of line. I'm just _so _worried. And not to mention really, really tired."

Scott shook his head. "No, I was being an asshole. You had every right. I'm going to go and wake up Mitch – you guys just wait here. We should all go to the hospital together." Avi nodded, smiling at him reassuringly, and Scott walked down the hall, entering the guest bedroom.

Mitch was laying flat on his back, muttering unintelligible words and whimpering softly, obviously in the middle of a nightmare. Scott felt a spark of worry ignite within him as he leaned over and shook Mitch, saying quietly, "Mitch, we need to go to the hospital. Mitch."

He continued shaking him gently until Mitch's eyelids blinked open, squinting against the harsh sunlight. He quickly shut them again. "What…?"

Scott ignored how damn adorable Mitch was and said, slightly louder, "We need to go to the hospital now, Mitch."

"Oh," Mitch murmured, his brown eyes flicking open again. He tried to sit up, back about halfway through the process he fell back against his pillow with a cry of pain. Scott immediately leaned over and helped him up, Mitch gasping in pain every once in a while. Once that particularly exhausting exercise was done, they were faced with a whole new challenge: Mitch needed to get from point A to point B, and he couldn't walk due to his broken leg.

"I'm going to have to carry you," Scott declared.

"No, I can just—"

"Mitch, you're leg is broken and just sitting up right made you tired. I'm carrying you."

And with that, Scott picked up Mitch with very little effort, and, instead of protesting further, Mitch rested his head against Scott's chest and wrapped his god arm around Scott's neck in an effort to keep himself from moving around too much.

Scott sucked in a shaky breath as he carried Mitch out of the bedroom and to the living area. He tried desperately to slow his racing heartbeat, because _holy shit Mitch's head was on his chest, _and ignored the weird 'this-is-meant-to-be' feeling whenever it came to Mitch.

"Guys!" he called out. "Go ahead and get in your cars or whatever – I'm going to take Mitch straight down to my car, alright?" He heard a chorus of 'okay's and 'sure's in response, and he couldn't help but smile at his friends. No matter how mush they annoyed him; he still loved the crap out of them.

Scott was forced to take the elevator in order to jostle Mitch around less. But, when he leaned over to press the button for floor one, he still accidently jostled Mitch, causing the smaller man to make a small sound of pain. Scott immediately straightened and then stilled, guilt once again coursing through his body. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he apologized, the words just tumbling out of his mouth. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay!" Mitch laughed, cutting off Scott. It took Scott a moment to realize that that was the first time he had ever heard Mitch laugh – and he fell in love with the melodious sound. He promised himself that he would make Mitch laugh more often.

Suddenly, the elevatormade a binging noised and the stainless steel doors slid open, revealing the front of the apartment building. Scott ignored the receptionist's curious look as he and Mitch strode out the door and to his car, where he stopped. His arms were beginning to tire from holding Mitch's light weight for such a long period of time.

"Would you rather be in the back seat, where you can lay down?" Scott asked Mitch. "Or do you want to ride shotgun?"

"The back seat would be nice," Mitch said. Scott noticed that his tight grip around Scott's neck had loosened, and he assumed that Mitch was beginning to feel tired also. "Can you balance on one leg for a second?" Scott inquired.

Mitch shot him a quizzical look. "Why?"

"I need to unlock the car and open your door."

Mitch nodded and took a deep breath, his body suddenly tense. "Make it quick, okay?"

"I will."

Scott set down Mitch carefully, and the smaller man leaned against the car heavily while Scott inserted the key into the car and twisted it, hearing the satisfying _click _that signified the car was unlocked. He then quickly pulled the back door open, and helped Mitch into the car.

Soon enough, Mitch was successfully lying in the back seat and Scott was turning on the car, the engine popping as the vehicle started and continuing to growl even as they were heading down the highway twenty minutes later. "The car may be, um, a little old," Scott said, patting the dashboard and glancing at Mitch through the rearview mirror.

"Just a little bit," Mitch answered over the loud roar of the sliver car. "But it's not loud at all!"

Scott laughed at the sarcasm, glad that they weren't suffering the awkward silence Scott had been expecting. "Do you have a car?" Scott asked, focusing on the road again.

"No, but my boyfriend does," Mitch said, and all the previous joy he had had before was gone from his tone. Scott ignored the sinking feeling of his heart and instead feigned surprise "You have a boyfriend?"

Mitch sighed. "Yes. His name is Travis. I'll expect he'll be really _worried _when he finds out." Scott did not miss the bitterness or the undertone of fear in Mitch's voice, and immediately, he knew. Travis, the _boyfriend, _was the attacker, but Scott sure as hell wasn't about to bring that up now.

"What's your last name?" Scott changed the subject, and Scott glanced at the mirror in time to see tension leave Mitch's body. "Grassi," he told him. "Mitch Grassi."

"Mitch Grassi," Scott tested the name out, liking the feel of how it rolled off his tongue easily. "I'm Scott Hoying."

Mitch smiled and repeated, "Scott Hoying, huh?" Scott secretly enjoyed the way Mitch said it.

They were at the hospital sooner than Scott had anticipated, but when he looked at the clock, he realized that the drive had taken them a total of an hour and two minutes, as predicted by Avi. It was as his mother had always told him, _"Time flies when you're having fun."_

They entered the large building, Mitch once again in Scott's arms, and Scott walked up to the secretary. "Um, Dr. Kipling wanted to see us at nine? I know that the hospital doesn't really do appointments, but—"

"He's ready for you right now," the secretary smiled at him. "He's just down the hallway, on the first door to your left."

Scott found the room easily and entered, as the door was already halfway open. Dr. Kipling was sitting at his desk, and Kirstie, Avi, and Kevin were all standing around the room awkwardly. The entire room was silent, and Mitch cleared his throat pointedly. Kipling looked up, greeting them with a warm smile.

"Come in, and set him on the hospital bed over there."

Scott placed Mitch gently onto the bed that was sitting in the center of the right wall, and Mitch grinned thankfully at him. He smiled back, taking a seat in one of the two chairs that were placed next to the bed on either side. Kipling took the other one, hanging his stethoscope around his neck. "What's your name?" he asked Mitch kindly.

"Mitch Grassi."

"Alright," Kipling scribbled something down on his clip board. "Now, I'm going to check your breathing and heart rate now."

Dr. Kipling did the regular check-ups on Mitch's condition before he finally gave him a sling and fitted him with a lime green cast on his leg, which Avi, Kevin, and Kirstie did not hesitate to sign, complete with little hearts and rainbows. Scott thought he even saw a unicorn.

"I'm going to go file in his results," Kipling excused himself before exiting the room. Not long after, Kirstie, Kevin, and Avi all went down to the cafeteria to get lunch, as it was already around twelve thirty. Scott and Mitch were left alone, both unsure of what to say.

Finally, Scott spoke up. "I didn't get to sign your cast," he said softly, striking up a conversation. Mitch grinned at him and handed him a sharpie he'd gotten from the small table next to him. Scott uncapped the marker, and, writing in his best handwriting, wrote his name on the lime green canvas. Scott smirked at his handiwork.

"I wish I could sign your sling," Scott said. Mitch had been given a sling for his ribs and arm, as well as a pair of crutches. Unfortunately, it would be hard for the smaller man to use them, due to his broken ribs. Luckily, his shoulder was easily popped back into place, although the procedure was incredibly painful for Mitch.

"Yes, but, unfortunately, the sling is black, as well as the sharpie," Mitch deadpanned. "But, at least I won't be clinging to you like a koala twenty four/seven."

Scott happened to feel a little disappointed that he wouldn't be carrying Mitch anymore, by the shoved the feeling down. "So, check-ups every week?"

Mitch nodded. "I hope you don't mind me staying with you. I really don't want to be a hassle, especially since we don't know each other that well." Travis hadn't picked up his phone on any of the five times Mitch had called. Scott remembered Mitch's mixed look of hurt and relief. He had offered for Mitch to stay at his place, and Mitch had accepted immediately. (Mitch didn't have a key to his own apartment. How jacked up was that?)

Soon, they were driving home, and Scott said, "It's been a crazy few days, hasn't it?"

When he received no response for the grand total of five minutes, he looked in the mirror worriedly to see that Mitch was asleep. He smiled to himself, concentrating on the road.

Of course, he should have known, that this was just the calm before the storm.


	4. Chapter Four

Scott pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, speeding up slightly to get to the spot closest to the building before a black mini-van could steal it. He twisted in his seat to wake up Mitch, but paused when he saw the younger man.

Mitch was curled up in his seat, appearing almost _smaller_ than usual, and was emitting soft snores, his good arm cushioning his head.

Scott couldn't bring himself to be the cruel person to disturb such an image.

Instead, he clambered out of the car and walked around it to open the back door. He awkwardly pulled Mitch into his arms, lifting him out of the old vehicle without much effort. He still disliked how unusually light Mitch was – he vowed, right there in the parking lot, that he would get more food into the man who Scott was quickly developing feelings for.

Scott slammed the door shut with his foot and carried Mitch into the building. The elevator, naturally, was out of order, forcing Scott to climb the stairs.

Eventually, he conquered the five flights of stairs, and despite all of the jostling Mitch had endured, the younger man was still asleep. Scott uncomfortably shifted Mitch over to one arm in order to unlock and open his door, but they finally made it inside. Scott lied Mitch down onto the bed in the guest room, giving the other a quick once-over. He was pretty banged up, his arm in a sling, several bandages, and a lime-green cast with several signatures scrawled across it.

Scott couldn't even imagine the difficulty Mitch would have with the crutches, and he still thought that the doctor should have given him a wheelchair. Unfortunately, Mitch had aggressively denied using one, saying that—

Wait.

Scott repressed a groan, thinking, _'You're an idiot, Scott Hoying. An incredibly stupid idiot.' _He had forgotten Mitch's crutches in the car, meaning that he would have to walk down the stairs and retrieve them. He let out an annoyed huff and exited the apartment once again, racing down the stairs and out into the significantly cooler air.

He unlocked the car and ducked into the old automobile, reaching towards the passenger seat, where two silver crutches rested, leaning against the cushion. Suddenly, his phone started to ring loudly from his back pocket, causing him to jump. He whacked his head against the roof of his car, yelping slightly.

He ducked out of the car so that he could straighten himself and rub the top of his head, trying to sooth the pain. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the number. It was one he didn't recognize, but he pressed the black rectangle to his ear anyway.

"Hello?"

"_Um, hello. This is Travis Bush. You called me earlier today?"_

Scott froze, his blood running cold. "How did you get my number?" he asked frantically, his heart pumping.

"_Well, you called, so I called you back. If you don't mind, could you tell me who you are?"_

Scott narrowed his eyes at Travis, even though the other man couldn't see him. "I'm Scott, the person who didn't call you."

"_I'll bet you one hundred dollars that you did, in fact, call me." _

Scott tried to think of any time that he might have dialed the wrong number, or lent his phone to someone—

He let Mitch call Travis with his phone. _Aha._

"Oh, um, yeah." Scott floundered for words, wondering if he should tell Travis about Mitch or not.

"_Yeah. So, did you have something to say to me? Or did you just want to hear my beautiful voice?" _Annoyance was prominent in Travis's tone.

"I definitely have something to say," Scott said, slightly offended. "I found a guy in an alleyway yesterday. He was sort of beaten up. Said his name was Mitch," he started, delivering the story like he was telling Travis about his day at the grocery store. He heard Travis's breath hitch on the other end, and felt a small amount of success.

"Yeah. I took him to the hospital just a few hours ago, and he had to get a cast, and a sling. Luckily, the doctor was kind enough to cut off half of the bill," Scott continued. "And just before we left, I let Mitch call his boyfriend, Travis. Travis didn't pick up, but luckily, he's the type to call back. So, here we are."

There was silence on the other end, and Scott could hear the crackle of static. Finally, Travis spoke.

"_Did he tell you who beat him up? Where are you? I need to come and get him!" _

Travis wasn't a very good actor, but the panic in his voice was definitely real. "He won't say who attacked him, but I think I have a pretty good idea," Scott said coldly. "He's staying at my apartment. I should probably give you the address, though."

"_If you don't, I'll call the police." _The threat was real, and the angry undertone in Travis's otherwise calm voice indicated that he wasn't going to hesitate at doing so. Scott would almost certainly be arrested if he did.

"Fine." And then Scott told him. As soon as the words were out, a fierce regret burned in Scott's chest. What did he just do?

"_I'll be there at nine," _Travis told him. Before Scott could say anything, he heard the _click _signifying that Travis had hung up on him.

He felt close to tears, guilt and regret slamming into him full force. He leaned against the hood of his car, swallowing back tears and sitting in the complete silence. He had just put Mitch back with an abusive person, and he hated himself for it.

He should have just told Travis some sort of stupid excuse, like telling him Scott had dialed the wrong number or something. This was the stupidest thing Scott had done in a long time.

Suddenly, something cool and wet dropped into his arm. More droplets of rain fell down until it was pouring, but Scott only got up to retrieve the crutches and went inside when a large bout of thunder roared above.

He finally made it into his apartment, soaking, and after he left the crutches leaning against Mitch's nightstand he collapsed onto the couch, flipping on the TV to take his mind off of Travis and Mitch.

He'd only been watching _The Eight O'clock News for Los Angeles _for about fifteen minutes before Mitch awkwardly hop/shuffled in, his broken ribs making it hard to move around with crutches. The shorter man leaned against the door frame. "Hey," he said softly, gaining Scott attention.

Scott smiled weakly. "Hi." He patted the couch cushion next to him, and Mitch gratefully sat down, letting his crutches fall to the ground. Scott raised an amused eyebrow. "How are you going to get those when you need to get up?"

Mitch grinned cheekily at him. "You'll get them for me, of course."

Scott laughed. "I wouldn't bet on it."

Mitch shrugged, leaning back into the sofa. "I just won't get up then."

Scott smiled, and they continued to watch the news in silence. On screen, a ridiculously dressed man, balding with an obviously worked on nose, came into view. He grinned, revealing a set of horridly yellow, crooked teeth.

Honestly, to Scott, he looked a bit like a celebrity turned hobo.

"Isn't he just gorgeous," Mitch muttered, and suddenly Scott was bent over laughing, gasping for air. Mitch frowned at him. "God, Scott, it wasn't that funny."

But Scott was still roaring with laughter, and eventually, Mitch joined him in his mirth. Their laughter soon faded, though, and Scott was reminded of the situation with Travis. He looked over at Mitch, who was still smiling, and took a shaky breath.

"Travis is going to pick you up at nine."

Mitch's smile dropped almost instantly. Fear and hurt flashed through his eyes. "Oh," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the TV. Scott didn't know what to say. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Mitch spoke suddenly, breaking the quiet.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Scott had to strain his ears to hear it. He was shocked and confused. What the _hell _would Mitch be sorry for?

"For what?" Scott asked, turning his gaze back to Mitch. Mitch looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry for causing you this much trouble. I'm sorry for being a burden."

Scott was stunned into silence. Mitch had been so, _so _far from being a burden. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Scott had pulled Mitch into a warm, tight embrace. After a moment, Mitch's good arm wrapped around Scott's back.

"You aren't a burden," Scott whispered into his ear. "And you never will be. You're always, _always _welcome here, Mitch, and don't you doubt it for a second."

Mitch remained silent, but he nodded his head. They stayed like that for a few minutes longer before Mitch pulled away, looking at him sheepishly. "Um, sorry, but could I take a shower?"

Scott rolled his eyes at Mitch's hesitation. "Of course. Just let me wrap your cast in that weird waterproof stuff."

Scott stood to get the clear plastic material and covered the bright green cast with it. He helped Mitch stand, getting his crutches for him ("Not a word," he said, frowning as he bent down, Mitch grinning) and pointed him to the bathroom. He handed Mitch some of his too small clothes, and Mitch smiled gratefully before going into the bathroom.

Not long after Mitch had entered the small room, the water started running.

Scott returned his attention to the news, the reporters discussing a school shooting somewhere in the large city that was Los Angeles. Something distracted him, though. A soft, musical voice was coming from the bathroom, singing something that sounded vaguely Les Miserables. Scott crept quietly to linger outside the door, listening to Mitch's singing with more clarity.

His voice was _beautiful. _It was light and melodious, and was almost, dare he say it, _fucking angelic. _Mitch had a naturally high voice, so it made sense that he was a countertenor. His voice took Scott's breath away, and he thought, _'I think I've found our missing member.'_

He listened to Mitch sing three more songs before the water was suddenly turned off. In a moment of blind panic, Scott leapt up and raced to the couch, practically leaping on top of it. He tried to appear nonchalant and relaxed, but he knew he was failing miserably.

The bathroom door swung open and Mitch walked out, a damp towel at his side. He sighed happily. "That feels _so _much better, you wouldn't even believe."

But, Scott couldn't come up with an answer. At the sight of Mitch in his Queen t-shirt and jeans that hung just a _little _but lower than normal, all thought completely vanished from his brain. After about a minute of full on gawking, Mitch looked at him strangely. "Scott?"

_Does not compute._

"Um, Scott?"

Scott snapped out of his daze, and he could feel heat creep up his neck. "Um, yeah, uhm, come sit?" he managed, his voice sounding a little strangled. Mitch seemed to shrug off Scott's strange behavior as he plopped down onto the cushy sofa. He let out a breath.

"Walking is a bitch," Mitch said, all the energy seeming to drain out of him.

Scott laughed and looked down at the ground, noticing that the cuffs of Mitch's borrowed jeans hung several inches past his foot. He stifled another giggle and instead said, "You're a really good singer, you know."

Mitch looked surprised. "What?"

Scott blushed an even deeper red. "I, uh, heard you it the shower. You were great," he quickly added at Mitch' horrified look.

"In fact, I wanted to ask: would you like to be in a band?" Scott asked, mentally crossing his fingers. Mitch had a hesitant grin on his face. "Yeah…?"

"Even if it's a capella?"

Mitch nodded, his grin slightly wider.

"Well, I'm in an a capella group called Pentatonix, and we just _happen _to be looking for a fifth member. How would you feel about being in it?"

"Yes! Omg, yes!" Mitch exclaimed after Scott had just barely finished his sentence. Scott couldn't stop the gigantic grin that split his face. "Of course, we'll discuss rehearsal times and—"

Mitch threw his arm around Scott. "I've said yes! This is amazing, Scott!"

Mitch pulled away slightly, so that their faces were just inches from each other's. Scott's gaze flickered from Mitch's lips to his eyes, his breath hitching slightly. There seemed to be a sudden lack of oxygen in the air.

Scott didn't know who leaned in first, but suddenly, they were kissing.

It was unlike anything Scott had ever experienced. Something seemed to click into place when they kissed, and he hadn't ever realized that he had been incomplete before Mitch made him complete. Warmth emanated from Mitch, and Scott soaked it up, loving the feel of Mitch's lips pressed against his.

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door, tearing apart the moment. Mitch yanked away from Scott quickly, as if he had been burned. Scott stared at him, wide eyed, before the person at the door knocked again, loudly.

He stood up and stumbled to the door, swinging it open with such force that it slammed against the wall. What he saw made his heart skip a beat, and he suddenly remembered who was supposed to come at nine. It was nine oh three.

Travis Bush stood in his doorway, expression unreadable, in a plain black suit and carefully styled blonde hair.

"I'm here," he said, voice cool. "I'm here for Mitch Grassi. You must be Scott."

And Scott nodded, numb to his core.


	5. Chapter Five

_***A/N: Sorry for such a late update, you guys! I've just been really busy with huge piles of homework, L-O-N-G play rehearsals, and other, more personal issues. Hope you enjoy the chapter I've hammered out for you all!*** _

Scott stared at the other man, frozen in his spot at the doorway. Travis raised an eyebrow, his eyes cold. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

Scott shook out of his reverie, and felt anger course through him. _Travis, _who Scott was now certain was Mitch's abuser, had the _nerve _to ask himself in?

Scott, instead of screaming at the well-dressed man, stepped aside begrudgingly and motioned for Travis to come in. Travis did, with as much snootiness possible, and Scott relieved his feelings by slamming the door shut after Travis was just barely inside. Scott clasped his hands together, and glanced at Mitch, concerned. Mitch's expression was undecipherable, but his eyes darted around fearfully.

"So, Travis," Scott said, trying desperately to make his tone friendly enough. "Would you like a drink?" Travis, being the absolute prick that he was, nodded, his nose in the air. "Yes."

'_A 'please' would be appreciated,' _Scott thought snidely as he tramped to the kitchen to grab a Dr. Pepper. He opened the fridge, his plan formulating in his mind, and made a big show of looking for something. He tossed his hands up in the air like it was a lost cause, and called into the living room, "Mitch?"

The person in question looked startled. "Uh, yeah?" His tone was curious. Scott smirked. "You were the last one to drink the Dr. Pepper! Come help me look for it!"

Mitch frowned. "No I wasn—"

"Just help me!" Scott interrupted, keeping the panic out of his tone. Realization dawned on Mitch's expression, and he clumsily grabbed his crutches, standing up with difficulty. Scott noticed, with frustration, that Travis made no move to help him. Mitch clambered into the kitchen, and Scott placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's check one of the cupboards, shall we?" He hoped his acting wasn't too transparent.

They went towards one of the cupboards, Scott making sure that it was one behind the half-wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. He reached over towards the counter, grabbing the paper-towel roll off of its holder, and ripped a piece off of a towel quickly. He yanked a pen out of his jacket and scribbled something down onto it, passing it to Mitch. "This is my number. Call me tonight, okay? Make sure you do it late, though, when he's asleep," he said in a low voice.

Mitch looked up at him with wide eyes. "Why would I—"

"I know what's up, Mitch. Please, I don't have time for this charade, alright? I'm going to get you out of there," Scott interrupted. Mitch nodded, his face grim. Scott gave him an encouraging smile. "Put it in your pocket, and when you get home, put it somewhere only you can find it."

Before Mitch could say anything, Scott snatched the liter of Dr. Pepper off of the table and exclaimed, "Found it!" He then proceeded to fetch three glasses out of the cupboard and fill them with soda. Mitch gripped his, Scott with the other two, and they emerged from the kitchen. Scott passed the drink to Travis, not shoving it at him only because he doesn't want stains on his carpet.

Travis sipped daintily and wrinkled his nose. Scott was almost surprised when he didn't speak with a smarmy accent. "This is warm. Come on, Mitch, we're going."

He placed his glass in Scott's empty hand rudely, and grabbed the sleeve of Mitch's t-shirt. "Goodbye, Scott," Travis said, before dragging Mitch out and closing the door behind them, leaving Scott standing in the middle of his living room.

Guilt swirled inside of Scott's stomach, blaming him for telling Travis where Mitch was and putting Mitch back into an abusive house. His only comfort was that Mitch had his number, and was supposed to call later.

He sat himself down on the couch, setting the glasses on the coffee table, and reached for the remote. Instead of turning the TV on, he simply sat there, staring at nothing. Somehow, watching TV didn't sound very appealing to him.

_Travis and Mitch arrived at their apartment around 9:45 P.M. Travis opened the door a kicked Mitch inside. Mitch fell, his crutches scattering in different directions, and he cried out, grabbing his arm. Travis' lip curled._

"_Next time I leave you on your own, and someone finds you, tell them to get away!" he shouted, kicking his boyfriend. Mitch rolled over, moaning. Travis could see tears tracks on his cheeks. "You disgust me. Get up," Travis grabbed Mitch's injured arm roughly, dragging him up. Mitch whimpered, and anger whirled around Travis like a tornado. "This could ruin _everything!_" Travis screamed, slapping Mitch's face._

"_I'm-I'm sorry," Mitch stuttered. Travis looked at him coldly. "You should be. This doesn't change anything though," his voice was calm, now. "That bastard could still call the police. And it's all," Travis hit Mitch. "Your." Another hit. "Fault." He punched Mitch extra hard, and then let him collapse onto the floor with a cry. _

_Travis stood over him, aiming a kick to his torso for good measure. "You're lucky – my friends are expecting me. But, don't you _dare _think this is over."_

_And with that, Travis left, slamming the door behind him. Mitch lay there for a little while longer, waiting for the sharp pains in his body to fade into dull aches before crawling over to one of his crutches. Using one to prop himself up, he limped towards the crutch lying in the kitchen, stopping with difficulty to retrieve it from the ground. He gasped in pain and shock when the crutch pressed against one of his newly forming bruises._

_He moved slowly towards the phone on the other side of the kitchen, desperate to call Scott, to feel the comfort of him. He pulled the slip of paper from the back pocket of his jeans – Scott's jeans, actually, if he remembered correctly, his head was a little fuzzy – and dialed the number with shaking hands, holding back a sob._

_He pressed the phone to his ear, and all he could think about was how the hell he had gotten into this situation._

_Travis had been kind, caring, warm, funny, even friendly, when Mitch had met him in the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop down the street. Travis was one of the working barista's there, and Mitch had soon found himself visiting the small café every day. Travis soon scrawled his number across Mitch's coffee cup, and Mitch had called him that night, nervousness flooding through him. They'd hit it right off, and Mitch soon moved in with him._

_It started with little things, like light slaps, but morphed slowly into a highly abusive relationship. Mitch had once read something - "If you put a frog into boiling water, it will jump out. But, if you put it into warm water and slowly increase the heat until it was boiling, then the frog will remain in the water and die. This is an abusive relationship." – and he completely agreed with it._

_Suddenly, the ringing in his ear ceased, and Scott's curious voice filled it instead. "Hello?"_

Scott was jolted out of his thoughts when his cell phone started to ring. He picked it up, and hoped filled him like a balloon when he saw an unrecognized number. _'Please be Mitch, please be Mitch,' _he thought repeatedly, answering the phone and pressing it closely to his ear. "Hello?"

Mitch's breathless voice answered. "_Scott? It's Mitch, I-I'm ready_."

Scott nodded. "Okay, give me the address."

Mitch told him, and he was already in his car by the time Mitch finished. "Thank you. I'll be there soon. It's alright. Goodbye—"

"_Wait_!"

Scott paused in his journey to press 'hang up' as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. "Yeah?"

"_Just please, talk to me. About anything."_

Scott didn't even have to ask what Mitch meant. So, Scott just started to talk. He ranted on about how unfair his boss was at the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop he worked at, he spoke warmly of his family, and eventually just ended up blabbering about virtually nothing, the entirety of his mind focused on getting to Mitch. He sped down the highway, earning himself a few furious honks, but also getting to the shabby apartment building that Mitch's address had led him to ten minutes early.

"Mitch, I'm here," he announced into the phone. He heard Mitch let out a relieved breath. "Oh, thank God," he whispered. Scott felt his heart plummet at the tone in Mitch's voice.

He pounded up the stairs, only half-acknowledging that there wasn't even a receptionist working in the run-down building. He made it to floor three, breathing heavily, and sped down the hallway, his blue eyes scanning for the door numbered two-twenty one.

He found it, and turned the knob, grateful that it was unlocked. He burst through the door and stood there, heaving. He called, "Mitch?" A weak "Over here," was heard from the left, and Scott ran through the entryway that led to the kitchen.

Like the immaculate suit that Travis had been wearing when Scott met him, Travis' apartment was sophisticated and strangely neat, as if Travis didn't really _live _there, and Mitch had probably never called the empty place home. Scott raced past expensive looking trinkets and spotted Mitch leaning heavily against the counter, a pained expression on his face. His eyelids were fluttering, indicating that he was close to unconsciousness.

"Mitch," Scott breathed, gathering the smaller man into his arms. Mitch buried his face into Scott's chest tiredly, and sighed. "You're here," Mitch mumbled into Scott's shirt.

"Yeah," Scott said softly, rubbing Mitch's back. "I'm here. I've got you." He then scooped Mitch up so that he was carrying him bridal style, and Mitch inhaled sharply. "Did I hurt you?" Scott asked, guilt already settling in his stomach. "No," Mitch said quietly, as if Travis could hear them from across town. "I was just surprised."

Scott nodded, even though he doubted Mitch's excuse was true. They just needed to get out of there.

Scott walked out of the building quickly, heart pumping, and set Mitch down by the car. He took Mitch's crutches gently away from him, and tossed them into the back seat. He let Mitch lean on him to the front of the car, where he helped the dark haired man into the passenger seat. He couldn't keep himself from running around the car to the driver's seat and practically diving into it. He jammed his keys into the car and started the old vehicle up, before speeding down the highway towards home.

As they passed under street lamps, Scott glanced at Mitch. He noticed a large bruise forming on his cheek, and felt anger rise up in the back of his throat like bile. "Where else did he hurt you?" Scott asked sharply. Mitch ignored him, and Scott felt a certain amount of frustration build up inside him. "Lying to me isn't going to fix any problems you have, Mitch," Scott growled. Mitch remained silent, and this time, Scott didn't break the thick layer of complete quiet.

Soon, they had pulled into the parking lot of Scott's apartment building. Compared to Travis' building, this one appeared to be similar to something that would be in a children's movie.

Scott sat back against his seat, and looked at Mitch. The younger man was still stubbornly staring out the window. "Mitch," Scott started, the anger gone from his tone. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Mitch met his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips. Scott couldn't help the grin that split his own face.

"Come live with me."

Mitch looked taken aback. "What?"

Scott leaned towards Mitch, excitement bubbling up inside of him. "Just, live with me. Travis doesn't own you; he can't make you stay with him. I mean, neither can I, it's just I really like you, you know? And it's been getting kind of lonely on my own and—"

"I'll stay. Of course I'll stay," Mitch said, a large grin replacing the small smirk. Scott felt like he was floating through air, and he couldn't seem to be capable of smiling bigger, which was kind of a disappointment. "Yes! I mean, good," Scott exclaimed. Mitch giggled at his blunder.

Scott jumped out of the car and raced over to Mitch's side, grabbing the crutches from the back and opening the passenger door. "Alright," he said as Mitch clambered out, handing him his crutches. "Let's get inside and get things situated."

He practically bounded towards the elevator, Mitch lagging behind, and all Scott could think was that he was finally, truly helping Mitch.

Not to mention he was now living with him. That was an excitement of its own category.


End file.
